


cosmic calendars and dean winchester.

by peppermintcas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-16 22:22:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1363888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintcas/pseuds/peppermintcas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel pauses, his hand hovering above Dean’s arm, but doesn’t answer his question. “I have been alive for billions of years,” he tells Dean. “I have seen stars born and die, and galaxies collide, and the universe burn into life- of innumerable worlds and countless stars, I am here with you.”</p><p>(Celestial intent, again. Castiel has not forgotten that.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	cosmic calendars and dean winchester.

If the entire cosmos could be compressed into a calendar year of Earth time, each month would be billions of billions of years. Each day would span 40 million years.

It’s strange, really, how Castiel’s existence has been centered into the very last second of it.

\--

On January 1st, the universe burns into life. It explodes with a strength a hundred thousand times the humans’ sun, raging across unidentifiable space, spanning farther than could ever be explored. Castiel opens his eyes for the first time and breathes it in, the brilliant light, the blistering touch of his Father’s creation. He and his brothers and sisters sing with joy as the universe ripples.

On January 10th, huge clouds of dust and gas and rock crash together to become the first stars. Castiel watches in wonder as supernovas burst and dust billows and the universe comes together with a resounding crash, light and heat and rock becoming one, and marvels at the seemingly random intent with which the universe was made.

On September 1st, Castiel watches a star roar to life. It isn’t a larger one, like Betelgeuse (Castiel had watched that one with interest; it had expanded with a burst of flame that eclipsed his form and burned with a ferocity), but a medium star, one in billions and billions, somehow catching his attention. Asteroids tumble past him, smashing into each other with deafening crashes. Castiel gazes at one asteroid that is nudged aside by its neighbor; shoved aside an inch, at most. Castiel turns away.

On September 16th, a planet cools by the very same star that Castiel watched earlier. It is nothing but a ball of molten lava and water at this point, slowly shifting into its place, in a cosmic dance- but it is important, even in its insignificance.

On September 21st, the boiling waters of that tiny planet are calm enough that life swims in it. Castiel alights onto the planet, his presence scorching the land; he stands on the shore of an endless expanse of water and simply watches. The moon glows, looming and silver on the horizon. 

On December 20th, a flower blooms, its petals shaking and delicate.

\--

On December 22nd, thunder rumbles ominously on the horizon as a fish heaves itself onto the land by Castiel’s feet.

He watches it with a detached interest, observing its shaking, watery form; misshapen, with water streaming off its sleek gray scales, it pulls itself onto the beach with slow, deliberate strokes. Castiel feels, rather than sees, his older brother land by him.

They stand and watch the little fish pause, gasping for air. What must it feel like, Castiel wonders, entering a completely new world, a beach of possibilities ahead; so tiny and small.

“Don’t step on that fish, Castiel,” his brother rumbles. “Big plans for that fish.”

The little creature breathes as it raises itself on weak legs.

\--

On December 30th, the asteroid that Castiel watched get nudged aside, so many years ago he has almost forgotten it, smashes into the planet and destroys the reign of the dinosaurs.

(Celestial intent, again. Castiel has not forgotten that.)

Castiel stands and watches as animals flee the oncoming smoke and looks at the massive indent the asteroid has made in the earth. He flies to another galaxy to escape the billowing mass of debris.

Later, still on that same day- December 30th- Castiel, invisible, watches as the first of the race known as humans raises itself on its hind legs and gazes across the plains.

His Father’s command- to love humanity, this newfound species, more than Him- resounds among the tiers of the angels, the seraphim and cherubim and ophanim and archangels alike. Among the ranks of the Host, an angel sneers.

\--

On December 31st, on the last second of the cosmic year (such a tiny span of time), Castiel strides into Hell, fights through thousands upon thousands of demons with an ancient power that resonates within the stars. He hesitates by the Righteous Man. He is held up by the chains and hooks threaded through his skin; there is blood running down his broad shoulders, his head is bowed. With dismay, Castiel senses that his will has gone. The Righteous Man is completely, irreparably broken. But Castiel can see his soul- held together by a brother, by a job, by a facade of confidence that has completely disintegrated; a command from a father, an old drunk. Faith, loyalty. Unwavering trust.

He thinks of _kintsukuori-_  the Japanese art of mending pottery with gold or silver, the acknowledgement that the piece is even more beautiful for having been broken.

The Righteous Man’s soul is threaded with gold.

“Do not touch him, Castiel,” Uriel says, warning. “He is Michael’s to raise.”

Recklessly, Castiel reaches out and places his hand on Dean Winchester’s shoulder. He feels the man stir under his hand, look up with a snarl already on his face; he meets Dean’s eyes. Even Hell has not dimmed the sharp green light of them.

Dean’s growl falters, replaced by bemusement. “What-?”

The garrison bursts into Dean’s prison.

(Castiel rebuilds Dean’s atoms himself, one by one, weaving them together. There is a universe in his soul, constellations in the freckles scattered across his body, supernovas in his eyes.)

(When he is done, he seals a handprint on Dean’s shoulder- a brand on Dean's soul. _I claim you_ , it says, _you are mine_ and _I am yours_.)

\--

On December 31st, he is summoned to a barn in Pontiac, Illinois.

Castiel takes a vessel, a man named Jimmy Novak, who prayed for an angel– though perhaps not quite like this. He arrives at the barn in a shower of sparks and splinters, raining down on him like that thunderstorm eons ago, when he watched a fish heave itself onshore and become this- the men standing before him, watching him distrustfully.

“Why would- an _angel_ \- rescue me from hell?” Dean asks. His voice shakes slightly.

“Good things do happen, Dean,” he says.

\--

On December 31st Dean Winchester is locked into the Green Room. Castiel cuts into his arm with his blade and for the first time, he bleeds for the Winchesters.

On December 31st, Castiel speaks to nothing, sitting on a snow-covered bench in heaven. “Please, hear me, Father,” he pleads. “Am I doing the right thing?”

He watches Dean rake leaves and thinks about stars and remorse and green, green eyes.

On December 31st, Castiel walks into a lake.

He wakes up with no memory at the feet of a woman with brown hair and green eyes, and feels something is wrong, but he can’t remember what. Months later, a dark-haired, green- eyed man rescues his wife from a demon (his wife, Emmanuel thinks, and it still feels strange on his tongue) and keeps casting looks at him and Daphne with a mix of vulnerability and bewilderment.

Dean tells him about his brother, Sam, and he says with a trace of bitterness lacing his tone, “Someone did this to him.”

Emmanuel hesitates and looks at Dean in the driver’s seat, his hard profile, staring determinedly at the road. “You’re…angry.”

“Well, yeah,” Dean says. “Dude broke my brother’s head.”

“He betrayed you, this dude,” Emmanuel says before he can stop himself. “He was your friend?”

Dean glances over at him. His gaze lingers on Emmanuel for a long moment, then turns away again, as if raising old shields, not allowing himself to think on the subject for too long. “Yeah, well, he’s gone.”

Several hours later, his memories are handed back to him along with a bloody, smelly old trenchcoat that Dean had obviously been carrying in his trunk for a long time. It’s like stars have rearranged themselves in his mind, fitting into all their right places, and Dean- it sounds right in a way Daphne never did.

(“When Castiel laid hand on you in hell he was _lost!_ ” shouts Hester, and Castiel thinks, once again, of celestial intent.)

\--

On December 31st, Castiel is sent to Purgatory.

(How ironic, he thinks, an angel in Purgatory. He was certainly enough of a monster; he had done enough damage. And his motives used to be so pure- all good intentions and God’s will.)

“Cas?” Dean calls, but he has already flown away. Purgatory has stripped him clean, his inhibitions and restrictions and longing all bared, and he doesn't think he can be by Dean, his goodness and free will and freckles and hands that Castiel built himself, don’t think about him, Castiel, don’t—

But it’s harder than Castiel anticipates to not fly back to Dean’s side when the prayers start, every night. They start simply- _Cas, where are you?_ and _come back, please_. But when he doesn't appear, Dean obviously starts thinking Castiel can’t hear him, because Dean Winchester would never say these things out loud. Not these things, not to him. Things such as, _Cas, I need you here,_ and _I miss you_ and one night, a small, almost inaudible _I love you._

_Come back._

It breaks Castiel’s heart.

(“I prayed to you, Cas, every night!” Dean shouts.

“I know,” he says, avoiding Dean’s angry stare.

“You know, and you--” Dean takes a step back. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”)

\--

On December 31st, Castiel stands in a crypt and raises a gleaming blade above his head.

“Finish this, Castiel,” Naomi orders. Her composed facade is breaking to pieces, her hair loosening from its bun, a wild, desperate look gleaming in her eyes. "Kill him!"

Castiel punches Dean in the face. Even now, he thinks, raising his fist yet again, he still cannot kill Dean. Even when he is being commanded, his mind taken from him: it’s something woven in his very grace, something that had bound him to this man the moment Castiel laid hand on him in hell.

Something, perhaps, profound.

“Cas, I know you’re in there,” Dean croaks. “I know you can hear me. Cas, please--” his voice breaks. “We’re family. We need you.” He pauses, takes a rattling breath. “I need you.”

The blade drops from his hand.

(“What- what broke the connection?” Dean asks.

“I don’t know,” Castiel answers. He has learned several things from his time with Naomi; lying is one of them.)

\--

On December 31st, Metatron casts Castiel down to Earth. His pulse drums in his ears, undeniably human, no matter how hard he wills himself to calm down, to think-

His brothers and sisters cannot sing anymore- their screams fill the cosmos instead, a marked travesty of the heavenly chorus, wings shredding and burning and ragged remnants of grace littering the air. Castiel stands at the edge of an expanse of water once again, watching with disbelief, horror, as angels fall from the sky, a twisted version of the asteroids that once pummeled the Earth. He clenches his fists, feels his fingernails dig into his palms, searching for a power that simply isn't there anymore.

He is one of the fish now. He is human.

Dean- he must find Dean.

(Miles away, a man kneels by his brother and shouts, "Castiel!" to the sky.)

\--

On December 31st, Dean finds Castiel walking, exhausted, by the edge of the road. He takes him home.

\--

On December 31st, Dean catches hold of Castiel’s hand as they pass each other in the halls of the bunker.

“Cas--” Dean says. Castiel thinks he knows what is going to happen, has seen this coming for a long, long time, but he’s still not prepared when Dean hesitantly steps forward, reaching for his other hand.

“Is this- is this okay?” he asks.

Castiel smiles up at him, winds his fingers in Dean’s hair, and pulls him down into a kiss.

Later, Castiel traces patterns and constellations on Dean’s bare shoulder, follows the path of celestial bodies in the crinkles of his eyes, observes the passing of galaxies in half- closed green eyes. Dean huffs out a small laugh.

“Cas?” he asks.

“Yes?”

“What’re you doing?”

Castiel pauses, his hand hovering above Dean’s arm, but doesn’t answer his question. “I have been alive for billions of years,” he tells Dean. “I have seen stars born and die, and galaxies collide, and the universe burn into life- of innumerable worlds and countless stars, I am here with you.”

(Celestial intent, again. Castiel has not forgotten that.)

**Author's Note:**

> This...got away from me a bit. I was watching Cosmos, and then bam- Dean and Cas. This happens a lot.
> 
> ...I'm going to go and finish the episode.


End file.
